Home And Dry
by TheResurrectionist
Summary: Bobby POV on Abusive!John. Written for the prompts "How do you give back someone's humanity after hiding it away for six years?" and "I didn't raise a son, I raised a soldier, Bobby." Combined prompts! Dean is 10, Sam is 6. Another chapter will be coming very soon. PLEASE REVIEW :) CHAPTER TWO IS UP.
1. Chapter 1

A/N Written for the prompt "How can you give back someone's humanity after hiding it away for six years?" Please enjoy!

Bobby Singer was a man of few words and many actions.  
The people who knew him in town (when the bottles ran dry and he needed more) thought he was an old drunk who ran a salvage yard. Which was true. But that wasn't all he was.  
Bobby was supposed to have been a husband, which he'd tried to be, and then a father, which had never happened.  
Those dreams were precisely that; dreams that had no purchase in his life now.  
Which was sad, because Bobby thought about them all the time.  
The only thing that kept Bobby going (besides the liquor) were the phone calls and the Winchesters.  
The phone was always ringing in his house, desperate hunters who tried not to show it, someone who needed info and fast. It was what Bobby was good at and it was what he did. Be it info on a malevolent spirit, locations of Native American burial grounds, or even just how to kill the damn thing, Bobby had your back. And they knew it.  
Bobby had once wondered what the hunters would do without him, had questioned his importance once and forgotten about it. But it lingered in the back of his mind whenever he sat down too hard on the chair, whenever he heard his knee pop when he was bent over a car. He was getting old, but it didn't matter.  
He'd be helpful while he was alive, and that was one of the few things that made sense to Bobby.  
However, when the Winchesters visited, few things made sense.  
Their family was composed of John, the father. Man had started hunting not six years ago, and made a name for himself with the other hunters. John Winchester was a name to be feared in the supernatural world, one that was whispered in praise and fear at the same time.  
The two kids, Dean and Sam, were a whole other story. Dean was ten, slowly growing into his muscles, and was already helping his dad on some hunts. Bobby shook his head whenever he heard of this. Regardless of John's mission (Which no one really knew about, and John wasn't ready to share) Dean deserved a normal childhood. He'd already grown up, having to take care of Sammy, the baby of the family.  
He wasn't quite a baby anymore, six years later, and full of questions. The last time John came to Bobby's house and got drunk, Sammy looked straight at John and, wrinkling his little nose, asked, "Daddy, why are you so smelly?" eyes wide and questioning.  
Bobby had burst out laughing, and drunk-ness aside, it was still pretty funny. Kid looked completely serious too.  
Both boys were strong, and he could tell both had the makings of fine hunters. Not many hunters grew up in the business, but those who did were unusually better than newbies. John being the exception.  
The only problem with the (only slightly) jacked up Winchester family, was the look in the boys' eyes.  
It wasn't like John was with them all the time. He'd usually leave them in a motel room for weeks on end, or in lucky cases, he'd take them to Bobby's.  
That was when Bobby saw the fear, and the inexplicable release of tension from both boy's shoulders as they saw the Impala thunder away. Bobby could never understand this, had prodded them gently with questions, but never received a reply. But something wasn't always right with them.  
Bobby could tell. And it sounded pretty crazy, considering everything. Weren't the Winchesters the most well adjusted people on the planet? Why was Bobby even considering…  
That. The thing nobody talked about. That Bobby wouldn't think about.  
In a supernatural world, that was the last thought that should come to mind.  
After all, John didn't neglect them terribly. They had decent (if slightly worn) clothes, looked well fed, and never complained. Actually, they hardly ever spoke in John's presence, which was another thing that freaked out Bobby. He could see the sparkles in Dean's eyes, knew the boy was a cheery soul. The boy would talk his ear off when his father wasn't there, endlessly going on about the Impala, new cars he'd seen and how Sam never cried when he held him.  
Bobby thought the boy was sweet, and secretly loved the look in the boy's green eyes when he took care of Sam. It was the look of a father, one that Bobby would have had in his eyes one day if life hadn't caught up to him so quickly.  
Sam wasn't quiet all the time. The questions were one of the few times Bobby heard him speak, though. He seemed to know instinctively when John couldn't handle the questions, tucking his little head of curls down until they got to Bobby's. Sam was as chatty as Dean when John was gone, though, and asked so many questions that Bobby thought his head would spin. Why is the sky dark at night? What's a cow? Who is 'Singer'?  
It usually stopped in front of John, though, and Bobby didn't want to know why.  
John's face was always grim, dark eyes as cold as ice. It was a bad analogy, but cold was the only feeling Bobby got when he looked into his eyes. Even when John's eyes fell on Dean and Sam, they never softened.  
That was what scared Bobby, more than John's knives or his guns.  
The day the Winchester family secret had come into the light was the day the bit of ice fell off my soul. And it was the last day I ever trusted John Winchester.  
Sam and Dean stumbled in around one in the morning, waking me up and alarming me at the same time.  
I managed to stumble down the stairs in time to see the tail lights of the Impala disappearing down my driveway.  
"Shit!" I'd said, startling the two boys in front of me. I realized Sammy was shaking from the cold while Dean was watching him with frantic eyes.  
"Bobby," he'd said, oddly weakly. "Can I get a blanket?" I noticed his eyes drooped, and his whole body began swaying. I barely managed to catch him as he fell.  
"Easy." I'd said, lowering him to the floor. I looked at Sammy.  
"Give me the blanket on the couch, please."  
He'd nodded, hands still shaking. The sounds of his little feet tapping on the wood floors brought me back as I stared into Dean's eyes, trying to get him awake.  
The blanket was tentatively pushed into my hands, and I propped it under Dean's head. His eyelids were fluttering, and I could see him breath easier as he seemed to calm down.  
"Dean?" I'd asked.  
"Bobby," he croaked out. "S'mmy alright?" he seemed anxious, almost. I'd never seen him this worried about Sammy before, not even when he was mother henning him before.  
"He's right here." I'd said, confused. "Nothing's wrong."  
He'd nodded, then closed his eyes and passed out again. I quickly checked over his body, trying to find the source of his illness.  
There were some small welts on his hands, not something I'd normally notice, but concerning me now.  
The welts were slightly raised, meaning they were still fresh. I looked over the rest of him quickly, seeing his pale face. Was it food poisoning? Maybe.  
"Sammy?" I'd asked. "Did Dean eat something bad recently?" I knew it was a long shot, but maybe Sammy had seen something.  
"He was, a, complanin' about a burger he ate." he said, frowning. "I think."  
I smiled at him, standing up with Dean's little frame in my arms. "Okay, Sammy. You wanna get a bed set up real quick, so I can put your brother down?"  
He nodded again, eyes wide under his curls, but he didn't pause. Up he ran real quick, feet pattering. I followed slowly, cradling Dean's head.  
I found the room all set up, bed ready for Dean. I laid him down slowly, looking at Sam when I was done.  
"Your brother's probably not going to feel good when he wakes up, so make sure he can make it to the bathroom in time, kay?"  
"Kay, Uncle Bobby." He said softly. I stared in shock. He'd never called me "uncle" before.  
"Sammy," I started, walking slowly to him. "What happened with your Dad?"  
He gasped slightly, trying to draw away. I placed my hand on his wrist gently, looking into his eyes.  
"Is something wrong with your Dad?"  
His eyes went wide, and he tried to draw his hand out of mine. He let out a little shriek of pain as he did, and I gasped. On his wrist were patches of bruises, red blue black and all the shades in between, running all the way up his arm.  
"Sammy?" I'd asked, softly. "Where'd you get these?"  
He shook his head frantically, cowering into his hair. He wouldn't speak.  
Fine. John Winchester wasn't on my hit list. Not yet.  
I hadn't really put two and two together yet. I knew then that something was up, but it took another week before John even came back. Dean had recovered from his food poisoning, cheeks turning pink in the sun. He decided to play around with Sammy in the yard, shirts off in the blazing heat.  
I'd seen the scars then. On BOTH boys. Horrible marks on their backs. Their arms. Anywhere not usually visible.  
John did this? Winchester was that fucked up?  
I didn't know. But I was going to ask him as soon as he got back.  
It wasn't a great plan, but I had nerve. Getting John drunk was the last time I saw him, incidentally.  
He'd shown up a week or so later, hands in his pockets as he walked up my stairs.  
"My kids, Singer." He'd ordered.  
"Well, hello, John. Yeah, they're fine."  
He'd eyes me then, beady over the edge of his sunglasses.  
"You got a problem, Singer?"  
I needed to play my part here, or I'd never get him talking.  
"Come in John," I said. "I'm just tired. Wanna stay for a drink? I got a new bottle of Buffalo."  
He tilted his head, trying to see if I was bluffing.  
"Fine." he said, deciding.  
I closed my eyes briefly, trying not to screw this up.  
John was going to pay.

A/N Jeez, I don't know where to start. Drop me a review?


	2. Chapter 2

Home and Dry Part Two

John followed Bobby in slowly, and Bobby could tell he thought something was up.  
Placing the new bottle of whiskey in front of him, he grabbed two glasses as he asked John about his plans.  
"Nothing so far. I've got a possible hunt out in Maine, might need you to keep the boys for a couple extra days."  
He didn't ask if that was okay with Bobby. He never did. And Bobby was so confused.  
Did John….  
Did John hit his kids?  
Bobby didn't know. But this talk was all about finding out, so he went with it.  
Putting on a smile, Bobby sighed happily. "Well, anyways. How you doin', John? Any good stories?"

And so the hours passed, boys staying quiet and eventually going to sleep as Bobby slowly, oh so slowly, got John drunk.  
John ended up with his jacket off, stiff demeanor disappearing a few drinks ago. The bottle was almost empty, amber liquid curling in the bottom.  
"So, John." Bobby started after a bout of laughing (Fake on Bobby's part, but who would tell?) and some tears.  
"What's up with your boys?"  
"Whaddya mean?" John slurred a little, and God if it wasn't easy to get John Winchester drunk.  
Damn. Bobby would've never believed it.

"I mean, how you raised them." Bobby started, edging towards that big question.  
John's eyes turned dark. "I raised my kids fine, Bobby."  
Bobby nodded, but went for it. "I don't think so."  
"Shut up." John said angrily. "Why are you asking?"

Bobby let loose some of the anger he'd kept tucked away during their drinking. "Because they look like they've been dragged through a wall and a field, then back again!"

"They're beginning to hunt, Bobby. Accidents happen!" John said sharply, slurring gone.  
"It's not my fault."  
Bobby froze. "Can you hear yourself, John Winchester? Because I don't think you do. If I didn't know better, I'd say you're abusing those kids!"

John sat up straighter in his chair, entire body quivering like a bow. "Shut your mouth Bobby Singer, before I make you."  
Bobby threw his fist on the table, shaking the whole house as he let his anger loose.  
"It's true, isn't it!" he shouted. "You're such a messed up fuck that you'd abuse your own kids! Do you know how old they are?" John's nostrils flared, and Bobby knew he was near the line, but he couldn't stop.  
"Do you think Mary would've wanted this-" CRACK!

Bobby came back to himself tasting blood, split lip dribbling all over his face as he got off his butt.  
John had knocked him to the floor, face red in anger.  
"Don't you dare talk about Mary." He said cooly, levelly, but with so much anger Bobby thought he would burst.  
"I'm taking my boys and you're not following." he said, walking up the stairs.  
Oh no. John Winchester was not laying another hand on those boys.  
Bobby dashed to the closet, grabbing his shotgun and aiming it a John's back.

"Turn around John." He said, watching as Winchester turned, face incredulous.  
"You gonna shoot me, Bobby?" John asked, red rimmed eyes focusing on him. "Really?"  
Bobby flipped the safety off. "You're damn right I will. Get the hell outta here. I'll take your boys." he looked up at the ceiling.

"If you so damn much as wake them, I'll shoot you. Get the hell off my property."  
John glared at him. "Bobby-"

"Now. Or I start counting."

John walked off slowly, floorboards creaking as he made his way to the porch. Bobby heard his car fire up a few seconds later, and watched with relief as John's tailights disappeared down the drive.  
He placed the shotgun down and sighed.  
This wasn't over yet.

A/N This is the part where I beg for reviews, right? J


End file.
